


the body is not a house for god

by FeverAndRemedy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Choking, Confessions, M/M, OCs - Freeform, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeverAndRemedy/pseuds/FeverAndRemedy
Summary: Jin was this holy thing, a star orbiting, drifting far away from him. Sabir was so scared he would eclipse that light, but the infinity he feels now is worth asking forgiveness.--Modern/college AU with D&D original characters.
Relationships: Sabir Al-Asiri/Jin
Kudos: 1





	the body is not a house for god

**Author's Note:**

> there's a lot of layers to this: it's a smut piece taking place in a modern/college AU for my D&D character and his love interest. forgive me if that's niche as hell, but I had a blast writing this and wanted it to be accessible outside of my private Google docs.  
> Sabir Al-Asiri is © me  
> Jin © @/syrcart on twitter

_This is exactly what I was afraid would happen_ , Sabir realizes to himself. If you asked him that afternoon where he saw himself that night, he would’ve told you at home researching for his political science paper, or maybe at a cafe somewhere.

He certainly didn’t see himself at what is probably the biggest house party of the year at one in the morning, cross-faded and sitting on the couch sandwiched between couples who are starting to get a little handsy. The girl making out with her boyfriend next to him touches Sabir’s leg where the hole in his jeans exposes his knee and it’s the last straw. He gets up too eagerly, the standing turns into swaying and he manages to catch himself from falling by just going with the forwards momentum. He ends up at the kitchen counter, which has turned into a full-service bar, where - is that Cricket?

Sabir doesn’t remember her major, but she’s a master mixologist, so one can imagine how she happens to find her way at every party. They had an elective together once, but managed to remain somewhat close, which is usually hard for people to do with Sabir.

“Cricket?” he half-yells over the music and lively chatter. How the hell are these people still going strong?

The short girl stops pouring the drink she was working on and looks at Sabir across the counter with pleasant surprise.

“Sabir!” she says. “I didn’t know you go to parties! When did you get here?”

“I have no idea,” he says, despite the embarrassment of it. Cricket’s lilting laughter fills the air and she begins shaking her mixer. She’s wearing a denim vest and a cat ear headband; she always looks a little bit like someone mashed together a mechanic and a teenaged girl into one person. “Can I have a water?”

“Yeah, hang on!”

Cricket pours some drinks and hands them to the people waiting at the counter, then dips out of sight for a moment before returning, and hands Sabir a cup of clear liquid.

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp, expecting the tasteless cool that comes with fresh water, but is instead punished with carbonation and the burn of gin. “Cricket! Is this a gin and tonic?”

Cricket cackles.

“Yeah! Hair of the dog that bit you, you know?”

“That’s for hangovers.”

“Right, right.” Her arms move in a flurry of practiced movements as she begins mixing more drinks.

Sabir pushes the cup away from him on the counter and turns around. He scans the crowd through the dimness, the warm bodies, the lights that change color and flash. God, he’s gonna be fucked up tomorrow morning. There goes a weekend of productivity.

“Looking for something?” He hears Cricket’s Irish twang over the bass of some song by The Weeknd.

Sabir looks over her expectant face and shrugs.

“Jin invited me, but I haven’t seen him anywhere,” he says, and pulls out his phone. No new messages. He looks at the text history just to be sure.

**jin** house @ 15th st  
da brick oneee

**you** what

**jin** HOUSE  
come over

**you** whose house is it??

**jin** IDK  
i,m dazzlign them w my petformhb skilds  
perform

**you** you need to go home lol  
im coming to get you  
dont talk to any gross men

**jin** ALL MEN R GROSS  
ur ok tho  
♥♥♥

No, nothing new.

“Oh, Jin?” Cricket knows him too, she used to work at a bar he performs at. “He’s downstairs, stupid!”

“There’s a basement?” How many fucking people are here? Sabir didn’t think homecoming was something anybody cared about anymore.

“Yeah!” Cricket begins expertly pouring a drink that begins to change colors as it settles into the glasses, and Sabir is actually really impressed at that but he doesn’t have time to watch it.

He’s been trying to find Jin for the past thirty minutes and has been downing drinks and inhaling too much secondhand smoke in the meantime, thinking Jin was just in the bathroom or something. Sabir shoves his hands into his pockets and pushes through the sea of underclassmen, finding a door he previously thought was to a garage. He opens it to the sound of more music, and quickens down the stairs.

The basement is darker somehow. There’s a purple light filling the space that makes the white print on his tank top look like its glowing. The room’s not overly crowded like the main floor, but the couches are filled with people who are clearly trashed as shit.

Jin sits in a chair surrounded by other people who are visibly queer, engaged in some kind of story he’s telling them. Sabir doesn’t think any of these kids are really listening, just too wasted to do anything else. Despite himself, he watches from afar. Jin’s hair is a glowing halo in the purple light. He’s put some kind of glittery makeup all over his cheekbones. Sabir feels warm in his face and down his neck and he thinks it’s the alcohol.

He’s starting to lose sensation in his toes. They should really leave now.

“Jin,” he doesn’t have to speak too loud to get Jin’s attention.

Jin gasps and waves frantically, then stops himself as though he remembered something.

“Sabir, look!” Jin begins reaching into the waistband of his own pants and promptly procures a wad of cash. They look mostly like ones from where Sabir is standing across the room. “I was picking apples!”

“What…” Sabir grimaces and steps over trash and various articles of clothing on the floor to make it over to the circle of faded vagabonds. “How the hell did you end up with that?”

“You should have been there!” a girl with a purple mohawk slurs with excitement. “He was teaching us how to dance but then people just started tipping him.”

“Well, I think it’s time to go,” Sabir says, and leans down, holding out his hands. Jin grabs ahold of his forearms and Sabir begins the precarious procedure of lifting the other man to his feet, which is very hard to do when Jin is both considerably taller and drunker than him.

With a bit of wobbling, they manage to pull it off while the rest of the circle whines in protest at the loss of their entertainer for the night. Which means they will all, hopefully, follow suit and go the fuck home before three in the morning.

“I’ve been making friends,” Jin begins to talk, and continues to talk all the way up the stairs. “I don’t know why I stopped going to these parties, they’re kind of fun. I mean, there’s a lot of like, straight people and awkward freshmen and stuff, but they’re not so bad. Did you see Cricket? She gave me the best drink ever, I think she called it a panty dropper?”

The sound of Jin giggling is much louder outside, where everything else becomes very quiet. The air vibrates gently with the bass making it through the brick walls of the house, but the rest of the block is quiet and cold with that fall breeze. Sabir looks around.

“How did you get here?” he asks.

“Uh, I hitched a ride with someone.” Jin doesn’t name who, and for some reason that irritates Sabir. “Honestly, I was just here to pick up this.”

He pulls an ornate scarf from off his throat and dangles it in the damp air before wrapping it round the angular planes of his shoulders.

“House girl’s. I’m borrowing it. But she was like, oh my god I’m hosting this party and you should have some drinks, and then Cricket gave me some drinks and then I had to teach all of these sad girls how to dance. Where are we going?”

Sabir finds his motorcycle behind a car with an embarrassing quantity of bumper stickers.

“I’m just gonna move this up the street a little. I… definitely can’t drive it, so I’ll come back for it tomorrow.” They begin to walk, and the air is doing a little to sober him up, but not much.

“Are you a little drunky?” Jin grins wolfishly, and the way his hand caresses the curve of Sabir’s arm makes him jump a little.

“Yeah, I’m. I’ve had too much to drink,” Sabir laughs in spite of himself and prods the kickstand of his bike onto the ground with his boot. He makes sure the helmet is steady on the handle and starts walking.

“Very scandalous,” Jin says, but he looks rather pleased with himself. “I wanted to have drinks with you tonight, but you drank without me!”

“You don’t need anymore to drink. I just couldn’t find you.” He turns around to make sure Jin is following and slows down so they can walk side by side. All it would take at this level of intoxication would be a stray root or hitch in the sidewalk to send either of them eating dirt.

“Oh. Well, whatever. I’m hungry.” There’s a beat of silence before Jin gasps. “I have a pizza in the freezer! You want some?”

“Mm. Maybe. You should probably drink some water, too.” That’s what he’ll do; he’ll make sure Jin gets home okay, get him some water, wait to sober up a bit, then walk home. They live relatively close to each other. And Jin’s house is around here somewhere - maybe a couple more blocks?

It’s quiet for a moment, with just the sound of the wind in the trees and the night birds calling to one another. Sabir isn’t sure why Jin invited him to that party, and he has a feeling Jin won’t really tell him. When he gets a couple drinks in him, Jin gets all sorts of ideas. Then again, Sabir can’t deny it’s nice to see him again. They’ve been orbiting each other all summer between odd jobs and traveling; Sabir went to one of Jin’s drag shows, Jin helped Sabir with some posters for the Muslim Student Association. Sabir doesn’t have many _friends_ on campus, per say. He keeps to himself, but Jin always seems to _want_ to see him, which is something Sabir isn’t used to and doesn’t quite understand.

Jin’s boots scuff against the sidewalk and his balance falters. He hooks his wrist around Sabir’s bicep. Sabir allows himself to savor the feeling: the warm, smooth skin of Jin’s palm, the feeling of each warm finger, snug against his arm. It makes him feel drunk again. Like he’s reveling in some secret indulgence he’s not supposed to have. He looks down at his feet and tries not to smile, and he doesn’t see the way Jin’s eyes are searching his face.

After a few minutes of Jin remarking how hungry he is every couple of steps and how much he has to piss, they reach the tiny driveway to Jin’s place. It’s something between a townhouse and an apartment complex - small, identical homes attached to one another. Jin fumbles with the keys, and Sabir helps him inside.

It’s been a while since he’s seen Jin’s place. Jin must have done some redecorating; it looks nicer.

Everything is peeling paint and hardwood floors; smooth, patterned rugs interspersed underfoot while the mint blue walls are lined with shelves full of old books and shiny knick-knacks. Homoerotic art and Vogue postcards are framed or stuck onto the wall. There are potted plants by every window finding refuge among draping white curtains, satiny and translucent like nightgowns.

“Take off your shoes! Lemme get you some water or something.” There’s a loud clatter as Jin tosses his keys across the kitchen table.

Sabir toes out of his boots and watches Jin move through the snug kitchen space. He moves like light, like a willow that doesn’t weep, all leggy and graceful even in his clumsiness. _Those drinks were stronger than I thought_ , Sabir mentally chastises himself.

Jin folds at the waist, opening the freezer drawer and setting a slim box of frozen pizza on the counter. He busies himself with the instructions, and Sabir chuckles softly and rolls his eyes.

“The water, Jin,” Sabir says, opening the fridge and pulling out a pitcher. He knows where the cups are. The water dances against the glasses as it fills the two small spaces, condensation collecting instantly on the outside with cold and wet. Sabir pushes one into Jin’s hand.

“Drink,” he says. He tries not to think too hard about the way he eyes Jin’s throat, which bobs when he swallows thirsty gulps.

“ _Astaghfirullah,_ ” Sabir prays quietly to himself as he takes a seat at the table, sipping the water and hoping, in vain, that it’ll clear his head or save him the pain of whatever tomorrow brings.

Jin finishes his water, says he’s too tired to cook the pizza, then excuses himself to the bathroom. Sabir puts the pizza back into the freezer for him and sits at the table to finish his water. Everything inside of him is warm and fuzzy, and it feels pleasant, like everything around him is lagging just a little bit behind. He shakes his head as if that’s going to help him in some way.

“I didn’t fall in,” Jin announces loudly as he emerges from the bathroom smelling like whatever lavender soap is in there. He kicks off his shoes and they slide haphazardly across the floor, then he collapses onto the dark blue couch.

Something about it is so funny that Sabir breaks out into laughter that he can’t control. Jin reminded him of a newborn deer in that moment, he thinks. He presses his forehead into his own forearm resting on the table and listens to the echo of his laughter against the polished wood.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jin gives a delayed whine from the couch, his face scrunched up in confusion. Jin is reaching the _tired_ point in the cycle of being drunk, and Sabir isn’t that far behind him.

“Yes!” Sabir admits. “I don’t know, it’s just funny.”

“I’m tired…” Jin twists his long body to nestle into the couch.

“No, no, no,” Sabir protests, getting up from the kitchen table and pulling at Jin’s arms to no avail. “You get into bed. This couch will fuck up your back.”

Jin grumbles something that Sabir can’t make out.

“Come on,” Sabir says, pulling again.

Eventually, Jin gives in and gets up, which is a feat in itself with how sleepy he seems to be. Sabir shoulders the weight of Jin’s body as the two of them shamble into Jin’s bedroom. The curtains are drawn shut, but the space is lit with Himalayan salt lamps. There’s a yoga mat unrolled in one corner of the room, and the dark shelves are full of crystals, glass containers of nail polish, and various accessories like glasses and folded fans.

“Whoo, party time!” Jin says it with tangible exhaustion. “Hey, Google!”

The little device on Jin’s desk lights up.

“Shuffle songs by The Neighborhood.” And it does. Technology is so fun like that.

“Just go to sleep, Jin.” There’s something tender hiding in his voice that Sabir hadn’t meant to let escape. It betrays some part of himself and he can feel the warmth clinging to his cheeks and can only hope it isn’t noticeable. Sabir unloads Jin’s body onto the nest of blankets and tasseled pillows that is his bed, and sways where he stands.

Jin is pretty wiped out by the look of him. His eyes are already fluttering closed; he probably won’t last much longer. Sabir turns to leave, but he feels those fingers curling around his wrist. When he looks back, Jin’s eyes are full of calm - some kind of admiration hiding there, half lidded. Sabir has to remind himself - _don’t look for something that isn’t there._

“I’m sorry we didn’t really hang out,” Jin’s voice is soft. Sabir wants to wrap himself up in that sound and drift off. Instead, he brushes it off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry. Another time.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Why does Jin look so concerned?

 _Please don’t_ , Sabir thinks, _don’t make this hard._

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” is what he says instead.

“I dunno,” Jin shrugs. The alcohol makes it feel like the room is swimming. Sabir sits down, feels the plush of the mattress underneath him. It’s so safe here, he is so safe here. “You just seem so sad sometimes. Please don’t push me away.”

It happens slowly. Jin is laid on his side across the bed. He cranes his body and his hand reaches up and cups the side of Sabir’s face and Sabir doesn’t know what else to do. He reacts instinctively to the touch, to how soft that hand is, to how good it feels, and leans into it. Jin’s fingers curl slightly at the nape of his neck where his dark hair curls and pulls him closer, and before Sabir can really process what’s happening, they’re kissing.

Uncoordinated, maybe, but not messy. Jin’s lips are soft against his. He tastes like strawberry lemonade and vodka and all the things Sabir wants to say but doesn’t. Sabir’s body relaxes and he lets himself surrender to the wet sensation of Jin’s open mouth against his own.

Whatever song is playing softly fades away and he lets his eyelids close. Stray strands of Jin’s hair tickle the space around his neck. It smells like fresh shampoo and sea salt. He lets himself get pulled down over Jin’s body as he works his mouth against Jin’s bottom lip. His teeth pull gently at the skin there, and when he opens his mouth again, Jin decides to take full advantage of it.

The length of his tongue slides against Sabir’s; Sabir has to steady himself with his elbows on either side of Jin’s head, but he doesn’t feel the strain in his shoulders. He’s too full of alcohol and butterflies and fire and the feeling of Jin’s mouth on his - it’s a steady pattern of giving and taking and he’s so used to closing himself off that it’s strange to have someone giving, and he wants to take and take and take.

Sabir almost isn’t aware of it, but he finally registers Jin’s fingertips along his sides, where the arm holes of his tank top offer a wide, open space, access to the brown skin of his ribcage. Jin maps the ridge of each bone carefully and deliberately with the pads of his fingers; Sabir is cautious and tentative in every endeavor, and the last thing Jin wants is to scare him away now. If only Sabir would let himself be loved, Jin would never stop giving.

Jin’s hands float slowly down to where the slope of Sabir’s side dips into the lines of his hips. The flat space of his palms finds the sensitive skin there, and that’s when Sabir pulls away. Jin opens his eyes to find Sabir forehead to forehead with him.

They’re both flushed and slightly out of breath. Jin’s lower lip is pink and swollen from where Sabir had attended it with his teeth. He looks ethereal with the way his hair is cast against the sheets.

Sabir releases the sigh from his chest and and turns over, landing on his back beside Jin on the bed.

“You don’t want to do this,” he says.

Jin sits up and looks over him, his brows pinched.

“You don’t know that,” Jin protests.

Sabir looks at Jin for a moment, then decides he doesn’t want to - not in this moment, not when Jin is looking at him like that - and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“You’re really drunk,” Sabir says. “ _I’m_ really drunk. Please just... go to sleep.”

Jin turns away with a quiet slide of the sheets. There’s this sick, slow ache in his body that feels like a fever. It feels like poison. Is there something wrong with him? Did he just ruin whatever friendship he’d managed to coax out of Sabir for the last year and a half? Jin pulls the scarf off of his shoulders and lets it fall in a folded ribbon on his bedside table.

“Okay,” he says, and there’s some sort of finality to it. “Would it be wrong of me to ask you to stay? Just until the morning.”

Sabir drops his arm to his chest and moves onto his side to look at Jin, but can only see the side of his face, turned away from view.

“And sleep here?”

“Just sleep.” Jin flips back over then, throwing an arm around Sabir’s torso and pulling him closer. He buries his face, glittery makeup and all, into the front of Sabir’s shirt, his body curling inwards like if he gets small enough, he might be able to fit his bones inside Sabir’s bones.

Sabir hesitates, but he lays his hand over Jin’s hair and it’s softer than he thought it would be. Even though it looks like it’s been through the wringer, dye job after dye job, bleached to hell and back, it’s still managed to hang onto some of its silkiness - maybe out of protest or some kind of will. Sabir doesn’t think he deserves this, but he’s tired, and some unconscious part of him desperately wants Jin to love him. His body feels heavy and his eyelids even heavier. Everything in Jin’s room is so gentle, like time moves slower here, though that might just be the alcohol lulling him.

But maybe, just for tonight, he could be selfish.

“Okay,” Sabir says. He doesn’t feel the way Jin smiles tiredly into his shirt. He just reaches for the big white sheet and pulls it over them.

“Hey, Google,” Jin says, muffled. “Shut up.”

Whatever song is playing stops abruptly, and Sabir snorts a short laugh. He lets his body relax, lets one arm sneak under the pillow while the other presses against the curve of Jin’s back. When he closes his eyes, sleep takes him quickly, and he doesn’t fight it.

X

When Jin wakes in the morning, sunlight is already filling his room. They’d slept in late, he realizes. The hours of seven, maybe eight, nine, ten moved by in a golden haze. Now, the warm autumn glow of noon illuminates every corner of the cozy space Jin had crafted for himself. The sheets around him are warm and fresh; he’d put them through the wash a day or two ago. They still smell a bit like cleaner, and like his coconut shampoo, and lavender. There’s a hint of something ashy and woodsy that Jin recognizes as distinctly _Sabir._

Oh, shit. Sabir.

Jin’s eyes open, blinking against the harshness of being awake and realizing suddenly that his bed is empty. He turns over and he doesn’t find Sabir beside him.

Instead, he finds Sabir in the space between the bed and the window on the opposite wall. He’s standing there wearing a black woven cardigan; it’s Jin’s, and was lying on the back of the chair by his desk last night. What is he doing…?

He can’t help the sleepy confusion that takes hold of his mind, and he almost just lets something snarky roll off his tongue. But he doesn’t. He can’t, because he hears the soft sound of Sabir’s voice uttering practiced phrases in a language he doesn’t understand.

Sabir is standing facing the wall with his arms folded over his chest. Jin watches as he crouches onto his knees. Then, Sabir leans forwards. His hands come to the ground in front of him and his forehead meets the floor; his back is angled downwards, the loose fabric of the cardigan eclipsing the frame of his body like a dark and modest cocoon. Jin’s heart feels still in his chest, as though if it beat too loudly it would interrupt this moment. He isn’t sure if it’s okay for him to watch, but he watches anyway.

It occurs to him then that he’s never seen Sabir pray. Jin’s never heard those words: _bismillah, allahu akbar, as-salamu alaykum._ But they sound so sweet in his bedroom.

Sabir sits back onto his knees again, in silence, and Jin takes the opportunity to slip out of bed and into the bathroom. He uses the restroom, brushes his teeth, swipes a makeup wipe over his face and tosses it in the trash can. When he pads, barefoot, back into the room, Sabir is sitting in bed on his phone. Jin flops onto the mattress beside him, head turned to face him.

“Hey.” Jin’s voice is wide and low with sleep.

Sabir turns to look at him. His hair is mussed, curling, unruly about his ears and the nape of his neck. Jin reaches forwards and touches it. Sabir doesn’t stop those fingers from brushing and smoothing.

“How are you feeling?” Sabir asks.

“Hungover,” Jin snorts. “I don’t know how I’ve known you for so long and haven’t ever seen you pray.”

Sabir leans back against the pillows. He shucked Jin’s cardigan back to where it had been on the chair, and Jin deduces it was only used to cover Sabir’s bare arms in that holy moment.

“I don’t know. I don’t do every salat, to be honest,” Sabir says. “I try to do them when I can, but shit happens. Maybe that makes me a bad Muslim.”

“Mm, I don’t think so. What is the word you said yesterday?”

“When yesterday?”

“In the kitchen. You said something when you went to drink your water. Was it a prayer?”

Sabir laughs suddenly, loud and warm. Jin wants to drink that sound.

“No, it wasn’t. Was it _astaghfirullah_?”

“That one! What is that?”

“It means ‘I seek forgiveness from Allah.’ Like when people say… may God forgive me?”

“I dunno,” Jin chuckles and shrugs. There’s a beat of silence between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable. “Are you still drunk?”

“No.” Sabir holds his hand straight out and makes a fist, wiggles his fingers a little. “I can feel my fingers.”

Jin feels that familiar stir, that warmth spreading in his chest like a butterfly laying its wings flat.

“Come here,” Jin says. He twists onto his side and reaches out, hand ghosting along the side of Sabir’s neck, that space just under his jaw.

This time, Sabir meets him halfway. It feels different to kiss him sober. Jin can appreciate the little snuffing sound Sabir makes when he inhales, the cold feeling of Sabir’s nose ring, the smooth sensation of Sabir’s tongue against his own. Jin can’t help but smile into the kiss.

He matches the rhythm of Sabir’s mouth, lets his teeth travel to the corner of those lips. It isn’t long until Jin’s hands find Sabir’s sides again. His fingers crawl like they’re their own curious animal underneath Sabir’s shirt to his spine. He resists the urge to stop on each little scar despite how much he wants to memorize every part of the uncharted landscape under his hands.

Being on one’s side is taxing, though; they can both feel the stiff stretch in their necks, down their backs. Jin takes the initiative, pushing the kiss deeper, anticipating the way Sabir moves back slightly. He moves his hands back to Sabir’s sides, pushes him back onto the bed and hooks a knee around to the other side of him so he straddles Sabir’s hips. It isn’t until then that they break the kiss.

Sabir is dazed, conflicted between wanting something so bad and being so certain he shouldn’t have it, that he doesn’t deserve it. But he can only deny Jin for so long. To be honest, he’s really bad at it.

“Is this okay?” Jin asks, and for a split second Sabir thinks he sounds _worried._

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“Okay, good.” Jin busies himself tracing the outline of Sabir’s collarbone with a finger. “Sorry about last night, I guess, if I did anything weird. I just, I don’t know. It probably wasn’t the best way for me to do that. I was worried you were going to hate me.”

Sabir frowns and grabs Jin’s wrists gently.

“No, no. I just didn’t think it was a good idea,” he says. He can’t imagine Jin taking it any other way, or, God forbid, think that he wouldn’t _like_ him anymore. “I just didn’t want you to do something you were going to regret.”

That’s very kind of Sabir, yes, but Jin knows well what it is he wants. Once he knows what he wants, it’s very difficult to get him to give it up.

“Well, the good news is I’m sober now, and so are you.” Jin smiles, stunning in his wolfish splendor. He reaches down to the ends of his shirt and tugs it over his head, lets the shirt arrange itself in forgetfulness on the floor. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ve always wanted to,” Sabir says.

Jin hikes Sabir’s shirt up with his hands, helps him pull it off and cast it aside before he goes back down to Sabir’s jaw. He peppers kisses there, slowly moving his mouth to Sabir’s neck where he’s sensitive, if the way he shivers is anything to go by. He feels Sabir’s hands on his thighs and wishes he’d done this a long time ago.

His mouth opens and closes around the tender skin of Sabir’s throat, working a tight bruise there and lapping his tongue over it like it might help ease the sting. He shimmies his body south to let his hands hover over the bones of Sabir’s ribs while he leaves warm kisses on his chest. Faintly, he registers the sound of Sabir’s breathing, the little huffs of someone who can no longer shake that unforgiving desire. Jin knows because he feels it too, a hot fire banking low in his belly, bringing shades of pink to the skin of his cheeks. The pants, Jin decides, have to go.

He gives a cursory glance upwards, making brief eye contact and, for just a moment, admiring the way Sabir’s blush reaches his shoulders, before moving down and working open the button of Sabir’s jeans. With some wriggling and effort, the jeans come off and end up somewhere among the other articles.

Sabir makes a sound like he wants to say something.

“What’s up?” Jin asks from between his legs.

“Is it okay if,” Sabir says, “I touch your hair?”

Jin’s lips twitch upwards. He shrugs.

“Please,” Jin says, “be my guest.”

With that, he slips his fingers into the elastic of Sabir’s briefs, pulls them down and wastes no time getting those same fingers around the length of Sabir’s cock. He grins at the weight of it in his hand and how he can feel the growing firmness.

“How kind of you to be hard already,” Jin muses lowly, looking up at the way Sabir is practically holding his breath.

“You’re the one who put your tongue in my mouth,” Sabir exhales, reaching forwards and threading his hand into the strands of Jin’s hair. He curls his fingers, and Jin can feel the slightest pressure against his scalp. It sends sparks down his veins, and his own dick twitches against the tightness of his pants in response.

But that can get handled later (and it will, he’s sure). Right now, he has other things to focus on.

Jin leans down and extends his tongue. He licks a slow, wet stripe up the underside of Sabir’s cock before closing his mouth around the tip, his fingers encircling the base. Sabir hisses a tense breath and Jin can feel Sabir’s muscles tense under him as he begins to move his head slowly down. He’s careful and calculated, at first slowly pressing his tongue against the shaft as he pulls his head upwards and then moves back down, fingers twisting at the base.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sabir says it like it’s punched out of him. He clenches his fist into Jin’s hair, pulling just slightly in a way that has Jin closing his eyes as he quickens his pace.

He keeps the pressure of his mouth tight, but not overly so. Now that Sabir’s fully hard, cock having grown wider and darker with blush, Jin moves his hands to rest against Sabir’s hips. He groans, muffled, around Sabir in his mouth, pleased with the gentle strain he can feel in his throat.

The sound of it is obscene, but excitingly so, as he sucks Sabir off in earnest.

He can hear the audible wetness in what he’s doing, and the sound of Sabir whispering curses harshly against the afternoon air followed by the quiet chant of _oh fuck, Jin, Jin_. Jin’s getting lost in it all, he nearly gags when Sabir’s hips suddenly cant up into his throat.

Jin lifts himself off of Sabir’s cock then, wiping the spit that had gathered on his lips with the back of his hand. Sabir is approaching what Jin would call _wrecked_. He had clearly underestimated Jin’s skills, which Jin takes as a compliment.

Sabir has these dark hazel eyes that Jin swears change color. They’re always caught between yellow and green, and when they’re half lidded and hungry like this, it makes Jin feel exposed - not in the way clothing can cover.

“Good?” Jin asks, still catching his breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sabir says. “Really fucking good.” He shifts, moving to sit up against the pillows. He reaches out to Jin with those hands that had been pressed against the floor in prayer, wraps his fingers round Jin’s forearms and pulls him towards himself.

“Now those pants should come off,” Sabir says.

“Oh,” Jin says with a mock scandalized tone, running his hand through his own hair so as to keep it out of his face. “I couldn’t agree more.”

He straddles Sabir’s hips and walks his knees up higher on his body. Sabir undoes the pants and pulls them down, helps remove them from around his ankle, and gets a good look at him.

“ _Astaghfirullah,_ ” Sabir utters, and this time Jin understands.

Jin is wearing a tight and lacy, boy short style lingerie. Patterns of shimmery black, sheer fabric forming roses and stems and leaves across the pale, smooth skin of his hips, the inside of his thighs, his ass. Sabir shouldn’t be surprised, but he’s also never seen anything like it before.

“Oh, this little thing?” Jin chuckles softly. He shimmies out of it and finally, both of them are completely exposed. But Jin trusts Sabir with this, and Sabir has a hard time believing it, but the evidence is there in the hard shape of Jin’s cock, the warmth on his skin, the way there’s a dark storm full of rain and lightning behind his eyes.

“Yeah, what the hell is that, you just wear that?”

Jin’s light chuckle sounds like sweetness, like the sun behind a cloud. He shifts to the side, craning his lean body over to the bedside table, where he opens a drawer and procures a little clear bottle.

“Sometimes,” he says with a shrug. “When I’m feeling frisky. I dunno.”

Sabir sighs as if it’s going to help clear his mind; he has his hands pressed to either side of his face.

“I’m never going to be able to forget that,” he says.

“Good,” Jin gives him a cheeky look. He reaches for Sabir’s cock with zero announcement, closing a hand around it before removing that hand and putting his fingers through the circle of his forefinger and thumb in measurement. “Hmmm…”

Jin tilts his head a little, then squirts the clear fluid onto his hand. He puts his other hand up by Sabir’s face and leans over to kiss him.

Sabir accepts the kiss generously, closing his eyes and letting Jin take his tongue into his mouth, letting Jin put his tongue into his own mouth. He feels the heat rise into his ears when Jin moans, a fleeting and wanton sound. It takes Sabir by surprise, he opens his eyes, seeing where Jin has reached behind himself to open himself up.

“Let me help you,” Sabir says.

Jin smiles against the side of Sabir’s face and pushes him back down against the bed, draws the lobe of Sabir’s ear into his mouth and sucks on it for a second.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jin says, his voice full to the brim with that self-satisfied pleasure, like he’s on the verge of a whine. “Maybe next time.”

Sabir’s low grumble rolls in his chest like thunder, he busies himself kissing the side of Jin’s neck. It tastes vaguely of vanilla, lavender, and sweat. He sucks his own bruise there, needing desperately to have Jin in that moment and be surrounded by him, or else he’ll go crazy. He feels lightheaded, dizzy in a real way that makes him wonder if he’s still a little drunk.

“You okay?” he asks.

“More than okay,” Jin says.

“Alright,” Sabir’s voice is a whisper that makes Jin’s cock strain; it’s been left unattended for far too long. “I need to have you on my cock, _now._ ”

Jin shudders; every muscle in his body is coiled tight like a wire, sharp and electric. Of all the things he had in his expectations for this, Sabir saying something like that so directly was not one. He’s normally so quiet and private and hidden. For him to demand anything made Jin feel unabashedly and desperately weak.

He won’t deprive Sabir (or himself) any longer. He rises up onto his knees, shifting back, keeping a hand planted in the sheets behind himself for balance. His other hand lines himself up with Sabir. Jin slowly lowers himself down, back tightening as the feeling of the stretch sends a spark up his spine.

That tight heat envelops the head of Sabir’s cock and it’s all he can do not to move, not to buck up into Jin’s body. His hands instead find Jin’s thighs where they’re planted on either side of him and grips. A sigh leaves Jin’s chest as he continues down. It’s like torture.

Sabir tosses his head back with a groan. Every part of him feels open and raw, exposed like a nerve.

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” Sabir utters breathlessly. “You feel so good…”

“Hey now,” Jin says playfully. “That’s not your religion.” But his words are stilted and strained. After a moment, he relaxes, settling fully onto Sabir’s cock.

“All in,” he says with some sense of accomplishment, smiling as he leans forwards, arms finding either side of Sabir’s shoulders.

Sabir turns his head, bracing a hand onto Jin’s wrist and kissing the skin there because it’s all he can reach. And then Jin moves. He doesn’t just move, he’s _alive_ , and wanting, and hungry, and Sabir has never felt so close to something and yet so needy for more. Jin’s hips make a quick rhythm of it, the forward and the back and the forward again. His hard length bounces ignored against the low of his belly as he fucks himself on Sabir’s cock, and the both of them are breathing hard, minds reeling from it.

“God, oh God,” Jin huffs, his voice high and heady, the sound etched into Sabir’s mind.

Sabir sits up a bit, hands moving onto Jin’s hips as he bucks his hips to meet him halfway - like their kissing, a perfect rhythm once found.

“Fuck, you feel so good, you take my cock so well,” Sabir begins to talk and talk, and it’s so amusing to Jin but he can’t process it enough to laugh at it, he’s chasing that white hot feeling just out of reach.

Jin’s hips seem to move faster on their own accord, his eyes screwed tight as he ignores the stretching pain in his thighs, able to focus solely on the way Sabir’s cock fills him. His hands wander to Sabir’s chest and press gently, comfortably - hands wanting to go forth and go forth to all those unnamed places of his body.

Sabir’s hands, too, come to meet that endless universe of Jin’s frame, the smooth skin of his sides that are their own landscape; all the things he knows, and all the things he could never know. He thinks about these, but he thinks mostly of how good Jin is and how stupid and unfair he’s been. Hands wander up to the slope of Jin’s shoulders, searching for the source of those sweet sounds he makes, all the hitched moans and breathy sighs.

But Jin is still chasing that high, and he needs to be higher. He leans, tossing his hair back like a mane, hands finding Sabir’s and closing over them, dragging them up to his exposed neck.

Sabir lifts his brows in surprise.

“Do you want it?” he asks between grunts.

It’s all Jin can do but nod vigorously, eyelashes fluttering. Who is Sabir to deny him? Hell, he would give him anything.

Sabir sits up a bit more and wraps his hands loosely around Jin’s throat like a test. He flexes his fingers over the delicate, tender skin. He can feel the pump of Jin’s blood through his veins underneath his fingers, the vibrations from the breath he takes and the sounds he makes.

“More,” Jin whines softly. It almost sounds like his voice is full of tears, and it might as well be. He can hardly bear it.

With a nod, Sabir flattens his palms against the sides of Jin’s neck and presses his thumbs into the skin where it’s safe, leaving the front passageway clear, but applying just the right amount of squeeze.

Jin can feel it immediately - that restriction he was searching for. He moans loudly and breathlessly. The sound spurs Sabir, who fucks up into Jin’s body as Jin’s hips slow in an attempt to keep the pace.

“I’m close,” Sabir gasps, brows knitting, teeth finding his lower lip and biting. His jaw clenches, thumbs continuing to squeeze Jin’s throat as his cock finds that sweet, firm spot inside. “Fuck, I’m close…”

The volume that was hiding inside of Jin seems to escape him then, a chant of _fuck yeah_ and _Sabir_ and _please_ until it’s just _please_ over and over again. Sabir releases a hand from that gentle neck and instead finds Jin’s drooling cock and wraps, pumps it once, twice, three times until Jin cries and clenches around him, coming messily into his hand and over his abdomen.

Jin is still making a delicious sound when Sabir’s hips stutter, a pace he can’t keep up for very long but that he does for just long enough for him to catch that climax.

He doesn’t mean to come inside of Jin’s body, a part of him is horrified by it, like he might sully something so beautiful. At this point, it’s far too late. He spills himself inside of that tight world with a shout.

“Jin, Jin - fuck -!”

And Jin is still in the midst of his own revelations; Sabir flips them in a swift movement and his mouth reaches the skin of Jin’s throat, and kisses. And kisses. He kisses Jin’s neck and the shape of his collarbones, the slope of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, everything he can reach. Because it is within reach. Jin was this holy thing, a star orbiting, drifting far away from him. Sabir was so scared he would eclipse that light, but the infinity he feels now is worth asking forgiveness.

“Jin,” he whispers the name over and over again, nose pushing against the side of Jin’s head, into the bleached hair, as Jin regains his spent breath, his body soft and pliable and tired against the afternoon bedsheets.

And they’re dirty and sweaty and hungover.

“Hi, hey, hello,” Jin answers in succession in an effort to ease Sabir’s sudden desperation, those dulcet tones nothing more than a rasp after the singing he’s done. He smiles and laughs, finds Sabir’s face, cups it with his hands as the other slides out of him.

“I want you,” Sabir says, and it sounds like the _salah_ , the _bismillah_ , the _allahu akbar._

“You have me,” Jin pets his hair.

“I know, I know, but,” he searches for words. “I just - I feel stupid. Like I ignored you. I just hope I never made you feel small.”

Jin laughs, spent and exhausted. He tips his head back against the pillow.

“No, Sabir,” he says. “You make me feel big.”

For a moment the world is just them in an unbroken and never ending yellow haze, until the empty pit in Jin’s stomach begs attention. He hums thoughtfully, finding those tired hazel eyes.

“How does breakfast sound?”

“Good,” Sabir smiles into the crook of Jin’s shoulder.

“Shower? Coffee?”

“Yes, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will be surprised if anyone besides my friends have read this whole thing but anyways thank you so much and you can find me on twitter @FeverAndRemedy where i retweet a lot of fanart and also yell about writing


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